


The Rowan

by Gabriels_Mourning



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, mergana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:52:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriels_Mourning/pseuds/Gabriels_Mourning
Summary: Modern Day retelling.  It's based on a video I watched about Mergana called 25 Reasons to Ship Mergana, take a look below if you'd like...I've taken the reasons and swapped them around to apply them to one another, because that's what we do, really...  But yeah, you can see the original video here, and there’s total and complete thanks for the inspiration, even if the work is essentially my own, using the Merlin characters owned by BBlahC.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cx6nYG1VNM0&list=PLfQV6byVq8vC1UrlgWd8EpsA26b--8YOc&index=51





	

The Rowan Tree was the hottest nightclub in Oldtown.  A dilapidated church had been renovated and transformed into a modern marriage of the old and new, keeping the ancient stone of the original building, but gutting the interior and giving it a somewhat blasphemous, and entirely hip feel to its patrons.  A central dancefloor reached up to tabled steps and spread like wings, almost like pew-styled bleachers.  Industrial looking steel girders gave it a robust look as the ribs that came up and supported the VIP lounge in its glass paradise above the peons below, like the gods of Olympus casually observing the mortals below.  Morgana’s eyes took it all in and couldn’t help the smile at the thought of all those heartfelt parishioners praying that the heathens that had bought their church found God.  Between cocktails and whatever else was going on in the bathrooms, of course.  A whirling glass staircase led up to a throne, which opened up into the VIP area, naturally called Avalon.  It was a work of actual art, with iron vines and huge leaves spreading through crystal clear glass as though they were carrying you into the heavens above.  Water trickled through in nearly invisible pathways, cascading the pulsing strobes beneath the stairway into a myriad of coloured explosions in the darkness of the club.  It was beautiful.

“Stairway to heaven!” motioned Gwen, seeing her friend stare at it.  It was the club equivalent of a whisper, speaking in a normal tone, but right up to her ear.  Morgana was only here at Gwen’s insistence; her old college roommate had had enough of Morgana’s shut in lifestyle over the last two weeks of her living with her.   Gwen hadn’t stopped bugging Morgana to go with her since she’d first dumped her bags in Gwen’s spare room.  She’d finally run out of excuses and looking around, she was glad she had, even if only because she appreciated the complete beauty of the building itself.  Her love of art had been how she’d met Gwen in the first place, as they shared a class and Gwen had been looking for a roommate.  Gwen was one of the only human beings on the planet that Morgana accepted as being genuinely nice, and so when Morgana had needed to leave her father’s estate in a hurry, she’d been more than happy to accept Gwen’s offer.  They’d gotten into the club with a wink from the ridiculously tall and well-built doorman with shaven blond hair and thick shoulders that had made Morgana give her friend a double-take for clarity.  Gwen had smiled and taken her straight to the barman, who had leaned across and kissed her cheek in an intimate welcome.  He looked vaguely Spanish, with thick black hair and soulful eyes that brightened a sexy beard into a bright smile when he looked at Gwen.  The way Gwen blushed and tucked her hair behind her ear as she smiled into her drink almost had Morgana rolling her eyes.  The music she didn’t know swelled and then changed, breaking into an upbeat rhythm that had her hips moving slightly and her foot tapping.  Gwen noticed and immediately dragged her friend out onto the dance floor, leaving their drinks at the bar.  This Is What It Feels Like by Armin came through in the beat, and there was a general chorus of approval from the crowd as the dancing intensified.  Morgana and Gwen danced hard, enjoying the music and the atmosphere of general fun, tossing their heads about and letting loose after the stress of Morgana’s move.  When the beat wound down, they headed back to the bar, where the Conquistador (as Morgana had decided to name him until she got more details a little later on) was pouring them fresh drinks.  Another impeccably dressed gentleman was carrying a seedy looking sallow-faced man away from the bar, with their drinks in his hands.  The Conquistador shrugged apologetically.  Gwen gave him a quizzical look and then motioned over the drinks as though he was dropping something in them and jerked his chin towards the sallow man.  Gwen gave him a grateful flirty smile and turned back around with Morgana.  Gwen bopped along to the music as Morgana looked around again, until her eyes drifted up to Avalon, above them.  Through the glass floor, she saw a man standing casually in a dark blue suit that fought not to look black in the darkness of the club.  She grabbed Gwen’s arm and pursed her lips to hide her interest.  Gwen followed her gaze.

There was a thin mystery to him, as though despite his leanness, he was brimming with strength.  The blue suit should not have gone well with the red tie and brown shirt he wore, but somehow it dripped of sex to Morgana.  He wore glasses, but his eyes were such a vivid blue that she could see them even from below, back at the bar.  His black, unkempt hair stylishly messed down into designer stubble that was a hairsbreadth from being a thin beard.  His ears would have looked adorably goofy in a bowl cut with no product, but the way he looked right now evoked images of his face rubbing between her breasts as she moaned, gripping his hair with her nails and sweating.  Her fingers suddenly ached to grip his hair and feel his stubble, and Morgana cleared her throat as her pale skin blushed.  The rest of the whole town had been a blur, but with one look at him, everything seemed to swim back into focus.  Either she was drawing her first breath, or losing it, and she couldn’t tell which.   He looked up for a second, as though hearing a strange sound, and then turned, looking directly at her.  Goosebumps rose up along her flesh and time stood still for a moment, as though the whole club itself was holding its breath, just as she had done.  The corer of his mouth quirked up, and Morgana found herself smirking back at him challengingly.  His eyes slid up further, crinkled into a smile and then he looked away.  Morgana felt the connection still there, somehow, as though even though he wasn’t looking directly at her, that his entire focus was suddenly all on her.  It was intoxicating.  Gwen turned back around, dragging Morgana’s shoulder with her.

“What was THAT about?” she giggled.  Morgana shook her head, not really knowing an answer.  It was just new, like everything else.  She was wearing new glasses, in a new club, in a new town.  It wasn’t something she thought her life would turn into when she passed the bar exam.  There was a sudden commotion on the dance floor, as two strangers began to throw light about in their hands, pushing the people off the floor as though they were emerging from a sea.  Gwen gasped and grabbed Morgana, who fumbled for her phone in the tight dress she wore, but the patrons roared their approval even as the Conquistador leaned forward, putting his hands on both of the girls to stop them overreacting. 

“It’s a show!” he said loudly, letting them go as soon as he had their attention and patting the air calmly.  The music cut out abruptly as the two strangers stood side by side and threw the light in their hands up to Avalon’s glass floor.  Light flashed, washing the affects out from the points of impact even as the patrons within jumped out of the way, protected by the shielding glass.  The man Morgana had been staring at calmly walked down the beautiful glass stairs and finished his drink, throwing the empty glass to the Conquistador, who caught it deftly and bowed with a flourish.  Gwen laughed nervously beside her, but Morgana could feel a heavy presence in the air as the two strangers began another light show, gathering a storm between them of bright yellow lightning.  Morgana’s breath quickened as the patrons around them cheered and clapped the show.  Gwen looked back at the Conquistador, who smiled encouragingly, but Morgana could feel the energy surging between the two strangers, as though it were hot or cold, despite it being neither.  It was like seeing with your eyes closed with crystal clarity.  As the man in the blue suit stepped on the floor at last, he glanced at the DJ, who nodded.  Union Underground’s Across the Nation smashed to life through the stunned silence and the man in blue ripped at his jacket and buttoned shirt as the two strangers began to attack with the light in between them.  Throwing his clothing down on the floor and catching the lightning somehow in his hands with a snarl that looked out of place on his kind face, the man’s eyes flashed from gold to blue in a vivid moment that Morgana knew would etch itself into her mind for a long time to come.  Watching the light bend to his powerful grip made Morgana’s entire body tingle in ways that it shouldn’t have.  Despite his showcasing, there was an energy about him that was anything but dramatic.  The strength she’d sensed before flexed, as though through sheer relief at being wielded instead of contained.  Morgana breathed deeply as she stared at him, her chest heaving as the power in the room intensified.  He held the lighting arcing through the air at him for several moments until the two attackers stopped throwing it at him and then slamming it down into the ground in front of him, his thin shoulders rippling with strength.  He bowed low to the two men with a genteel flourish as he snaked his arms around him.  From within him, bright lines glowed in a sinuous river along his body, coming up until his left pec muscle glowed with what looked like an eye about the size of an apricot seed.  But it glowed through his shirt, and his gaze dropped, glaring at the two men in warning.  They exchanged a frantic glance and then began to throw fireballs at him in panic.  His forearms and palms intercepted each and every ball, while his glare intensified until his own eyes looked like they were glowing, too.  Like his veins were filling with power, the river-looking ribbon around him grew brighter and brighter, showing through the thin shirt he wore.  The two attackers stopped and drew swords from somewhere, although Morgana could have sworn they hadn’t carried them before, and they wore only black suits, not coats that would have concealed the weapons.  If the man in blue was concerned or alarmed that his opponents suddenly went medieval, he didn’t express it.   His hands spread wide and two balls of light formed about his fingers, as though he held a storm within each fist.  He raised his chin, inviting the would be assailants.

To their credit, they truly did try.  They were simply outmatched.  It was beautiful, in the deadliest way possible.  But the man in blue was simply better.  He moved in a dance that seemed to emulate the water trickling down the glass walls of the stairs.  He swerved and ducked and pivoted, only lashing out with a hand or a leg to check the swords, which he seemed in more control of than their wielders.  Always with the flat of the blade did they hit, not scoring a single unchecked blow.  They grew obviously frustrated, but didn’t pursue him harder, or break off the attack.  It was as if they were waiting for something, and Morgana looked around.  The faces of everyone she could see shared her own rapt fascination, except one.  A dark haired woman with blue eyes and thick, succulent lips calmly watched, sipping her drink as though only mildly interested.  Her eyes weren’t flashing between the attackers and the man, but instead, were focussed only on the man.  Morgana turned back as the attackers turned either side of one another and swung their swords laterally, meaning to chop the man in half.  Almost contemptuously, he grabbed both blades and flexed back, forcing them to drop to their knees or have the blades ripped from their grips.  Lightning arced down the blades into the attackers and they screamed, much to the crowd’s uproarious approval.  A third attacker ducked out from the suddenly energized crowd and charged toward the man’s back with a drawn dagger and a fanatic’s gaze.  He slashed wildly instead of stabbing, as he should have done, which was in part what saved the man.  The other part was Morgana’s warning scream.  The wild slash scored only a slice on the man’s shoulder as he twisted away.  The glowing eyes blazed and he turned, his fist glowing.  Morgana gasped as she felt the power surge, as though she was suddenly next to the sun on a white hot day.  The attacker’s hand cracked apart like overbaked charcoal, crumbling into dust in the light of the man’s glare.  The man jerked his head as though pointing with his chin and the attacker was blasted back away from him.  He turned back around as the attackers in front of him scrambled away from him and ran for the exit.  They ran straight past the woman Morgana had spotted earlier, who sipped her drink and held it up, saluting the man.  Morgana turned back to see the man recognize the woman and narrow his eyes.  They widened in shock and Morgana turned back, but the woman was nowhere to be seen, as though she’d just vanished.  The song ended and the man threw his hands wide to celebrate as the stunned silence ended and the crowd screamed its approval in appreciation for being entertained so diligently.  The man caught eyes with Morgana and nodded, as if in thanks.  She didn’t respond, and his gaze widened slightly, taking the rest of her in.  The drank in her toned legs and the short skirt that tucked in under her rear so tightly that it made sitting down a risk.  They didn’t linger for a moment on her breasts, though her bare right shoulder felt as though his approval kissed it as his gaze heated a line of fine up her neck and held at her lips.  Her cascading hair, like a waterfall of oil on a starless night, caught the light with its sheen held his eyes, which registered approval and hunger all in one.  He bowed, just for her, and she raised her chin regally in acceptance of his honour.  Gwen clasped her hand and drew her gaze even as the music started up again and the dance floor filled with patrons eager to resume the party.  Gwen and the Conquistador were clapping, but his grin looked forced.  Morgana could still feel the power in the air and her pale skin was pimpled with gooseflesh still.  Whatever had just happened, there was more than a fancy light show.   Gwen pulled her out of her daze as they headed for the staircase, with the Conquistador in tow.  The revelling was being taken to another level around them, as though the crowd were high on the goings on.  Morgana let herself be dragged up the stairs, as the Conquistador gathered ice and towels. 

“Wait here?” he asked softly, as the music was much more muted within the thick glass room.  Gwen nodded and sat down in the comfy chairs and crossed her legs as she sipped at yet another drink.  Morgana took a breath and looked for signs to the bathroom.  It only took her a moment and she tapped Gwen on the shoulder and pointed, forgetting the music was much quieter.  Gwen nodded anyway, and pulled out her phone.  Morgana rolled her eyes and posed for a quick selfie before making her way across the room and through the bar-side doors, past the Conquistador, who didn’t notice as he was busy putting the ice into towels and grabbing a first aid kit. 

∞∞Ŧ∞∞

Merlin rolled his shoulder, trying to assess the damage.  He peeled his shirt off, hissing as it came away from the shallow cut on his shoulder blade.  The golden eye of Kilgarrah gleamed at him in the low light.  Merlin’s tattoo, named after his first and most beloved dog, was perfect work of inked art.  Stone shading created a sketched work so perfect Merlin always paused to stare at it when he saw it, looking like a statue had been grown into his skin.  Despite the craggy scales and horns, a river of golden power ran through and over the body, holding it together as though the power was contained in the stone as if gluing a shattered statue back together with molten gold.  Merlin loved the work, and had done so ever since he’d had it done.  It was the only thing Nimue had ever given him that hadn’t ended in pain, possibly because it had hurt so much when he’d gotten it that she’d already gotten her fill.  He put that out of his mind and worked his shoulders again.  It could have been much, much worse, he considered.  His office, in the renovated attic of the old Church, was incredibly comfortable, but not home.  Home was across town, and very few people had ever seen it.  It only held several changes of clothes pretty indistinguishable from his current stylish apparel in a small cupboard within the tiny ensuite bathroom.  He cleaned the wound as best he could, knowing that Lance would be up shortly to stich him back together.  He was done for the night at the club anyway.  He pulled on some old Levi’s that were comfortably worn in but left the shirt and shoes off to that Lance could get a good look at the wound.  The shoes he just couldn’t be bothered with at the moment.  His phone rang and he rolled his eyes with a rueful grimace, before answering it on speakerphone. 

“I’m cut, but it’s not bad.  Don’t mother me.” He added meaningfully, knowing his adopted brother.  Gwaine laughed easily and in the background, Merlin could hear the sounds of a tunnel or something to that affect that made the Blutooth connection sound as if it was going underwater. 

“Alright? Missed it, did I?”  Gwaine’s question was simple and easy, but Merlin understood that his friend just needed the reassurance that he was okay.

“Yeah.”  Merlin pondered the third attacker, and the way his arm had shattered.  Merlin hadn’t done it.  “Nimue again.”  He wondered if he should have attacked her when he saw her smugly surveying her handiwork, but then, it wasn’t who he was.  And she took full advantage of that.  “I don’t know how she keeps getting these idiots to follow her blindly.  She must have rabbit-Femorrah crossbreeds or something.” 

“They’re called boobs, Merlin.  She’s got an epic rack, and there’s not a lot she wouldn’t let a guy do to her if it meant getting rid of you.  I’ve been tempted several times myself.  It’s not easy being your friend.”  Gwaine’s smile came through clearer than the reception should have allowed, and Merlin grinned before shaking his head at the loss of so many lives.  He knew the attackers he’d let escape would already be dead.  Nimue didn’t like loose ends. 

“They’re forfeiting their lives.  They have no idea.”  Merlin sighed and could almost hear Gwaine shrug in acknowledgement. 

“So you say, little brother.  But I’ve seen her chest.  And her arse.  If she offered that up, I swear I could adopt another little brother.  Or a kitten.  No, a beagle!  That way I wouldn’t miss your ears.”  Gwaine waited for some retort from Merlin, but all he got was a hiss as Merlin realised his shoulder was opened up again, and oozing blood. 

“I’m so glad you’re finding my renegade sister so enchanting, Gwaine.”  He reached around to press the crumpled up shirt against it and wondered what was keeping Lance. 

“Hell, if you looked that good in a red dress, I’d be there right now, keeping you out of trouble.  But you lack three important assets to help you with that.”  Merlin rolled his shoulder again to stretch out the discomforting tension.  “What’s news then?”

“I’m bleeding.  Do you really need a business report right now?” Merlin asked, somewhat exasperated.

“Blood?  You get a hit, did you?  That hasn’t happened before…” Gwaine let the statement hang there for a while.  Merlin gave a non-committal grunt.

“There WERE three of them, Gwaine.”  The phone hummed at him in impressed but guarded tones.

“No one thinks anything of it?”  Gwaine’s tone told Merlin he wasn’t happy, but had decided to move the conversation back away from things he couldn’t control, like Merlin being a target. 

“They all thought it was a show, as per usual.  We’re getting a bit of a reputation,” added Merlin.  Gwaine grunted again in affirmation. 

“Club’s making money then?” he asked with more than casual interest.   Merlin nodded, which of course Gwaine couldn’t see. 

“Hand over foot.  People do love to party in this town.”  The wound on his shoulder was starting to burn, and Merlin sighed with relief as he heard the door behind him open.  “I’ll have to call you back, mate.  Lance is here, and I’ve got to get cleaned up.”  Gwaine answered him with a noncommittal grunt that somehow conveyed that he was happy with Merlin’s health and satisfied with his answers.  “Wait.  Three things?” he queried as he felt a rivulet of blood running down his back.  He pushed his jeans off and stepped out of them casually as he headed to the shower again.  The instant hot water service was one of the better investments he’d made when putting the office together.  The other was thick soundproofing in the walls.  He heard Gwaine’s laugh over the phone.

“Yeah, little brother.  Her chest.  Her hips.  And what lies between the latter,” he laughed.  “Hanging up, now, Merlin!”  The line clicked and Merlin shook his head, not looking up.  It was an unspoken rule that even if there was nakedness, there wasn’t eye contact.  It would just be weird.  And besides, Merlin was tired.  Wielding that much magic was exhausting.  And addictive.  It was the only time Merlin ever felt badass.    

“I hope no woman ever has the misfortune to wind up married to that man, Lance.  I’m just going to try get cleaned up before you stich me up, alright mate?”  Lance didn’t answer, so Merlin shrugged before wincing.  He stepped into the shower and hissed in pain as the water stung his cut. He watched the rivulet of blood mingle with the water at his feet and felt the muscles release the tension slowly.  He heated the water up a bit more and sighed, closing his eyes.  In his mind smirked a goddess with midnight hair and charcoal rimmed eyes.  She’d been the first person he’d felt himself responding to in a lifetime.  There was something about her.  He flexed his arm and stared at his right hand.  He hadn’t caused the third attacker’s blade and hand to shatter.  Someone else had.  It wouldn’t be Nimue; that would have defeated her purpose.  He smiled as the hot steam filled up the bathroom, blanketing the glass in white fog.  Maybe there was something OTHER than chemistry between himself and the girl.  She’d been with the girl that Lance was sweet on.  Gwendolyn, or Glennie, something like that.  Beauty therapist or something.  Something deep in his soul urged the question. 

“Hey Lance, grab me a towel, can you?  And what’s the name of the girl you’re sweet on?”  He didn’t answer, and Merlin opened up the shower screen and stuck his head around the corner.  “Lance?”

Back in the office, Morgana stood frozen, staring at where the naked man had casually strolled away from her, showing a ridiculously cute bottom for a man so whippet lean.  She bit her lip and turned, nearly running into Lance, who turned out to be Conquistador, as he juggled ice, towels, first aid kit and a baffled expression.  Morgana heard the shower turn off and then her eyes widened as she heard steps on tile.  Lance looked behind him to see Gwen, who reached in and grabbed Morgana and slipped a napkin into the pile of things Lance carried before lurching back down the stairs and away from the anxiety attack of the office and a naked Merlin. 

The sorcerer came around the corner, ludicrously holding a face washer to cover his dignity.  He stopped when he saw Lance, and neither looked one another in the eyes. 

“Mate.  Seriously?”  Lance grinned and began to laugh as Merlin wiped his dripping face. 

∞∞Ŧ∞∞

The next day, Merlin was having a cup of tea in the afternoon and idly flipping the pages of his paper when a familiar face caught his eyes.  The beauty from last night stood on the courthouse steps, in front of a gaggle of press.  “New blood at Penndragon, Godwyn and Gorglois making her mark!”  Beside her stood a very pleased looking woman who really needed some sleep.  She looked wan and tired, obviously stressed about the trial she’d been going through.  Or it could have been that she stood next to Morgana, Merlin mused.  She looked every bit the beautiful lawyer, down to the rimless glasses and short heels and the shine of her French-tipped nails.  Her hair was tied back and her lips and make up were naturally highlighted, but not overly so.  Certainly not the sex goddess he’d seen last night, but unmistakably her best disguise.  The woman he’d locked eyes with last night had been breathtaking.  This staunch warrior for justice was steadying, despite her looks.  Such a transition, or transformation, more to the point.  He smiled to himself as the door opened, Lance coming in.  It was still early by their standards, not yet midday.  Merlin barely slept, but Lance was supposed to be enjoying his day off. 

“Check this out.  “…Dogged and unwilling to compromise when in court, she could be accurately be described a bulldog if she wasn’t so presentable,” he quoted, shaking the paper out to follow the lines of the article.  “Says here she’s a transfer from Ireland.  She was at the club last night with your sweetheart.”  Lance didn’t respond to the gentle gibe, but instead leaned down and caught his friend’s eye. 

“She’s downstairs.”  He left off, jerking his head behind him as though Merlin should be careful that someone was so close to him.  Merlin didn’t respond immediately, as he frowned.

“Your Gwen?  I finally get to meet her?” he asked, his eyes wide.  Lance shook his head.

“Your Morgana.  And she’s not alone.  This looks official, Merlin.”  Lance’s grim face had Merlin on his feet and walking down the steps two at a time.  Lance hurried behind him.  “The oaf beside her is Detective Inspector Athol, her brother.  He’s a bit of a rising star, and rumour has it he’s heading to politics after he’s done righting the world’s wrongs, so be careful with him.  Merlin eyed him up and down as they came up to the siblings and Merlin shook his head.  The officer had a firm grip, but a goofy smile.

“Merrin Lenmeris?” 

“Call me Merlin.”  Merlin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, filling his head with Morgana’s perfume.  The blond tilted his head in acceptance at Merlin’s words and gestured to his counterpart. 

“I’m Arthur Athol, and this is…”

“We’ve met, sort of.”  Arthur eyed the two of them, smirking at one another, and pursed his lips at Morgana cutting him off.  She held a slim hand out to him and he took it, holding her fingers at first as though to kiss her knuckles before opting to simply shake it in greeting.  Morgana’s eyes shone in mirth and Merlin shrugged.  The stitched wound on his shoulder tugged, but he didn’t let it show.  Her eyes drifted down, taking in his jeans and bare feet, and the simple blue tee he wore.  He seemed to like the colour, she mused.  A stone arm snake was inked along his arms, ending in a clawed foot on top of his right wrist.  Not a snake, she realised, but an arm.  Similarly, the bottom of his left wrist was also inked with a clawed, scaled arm.  The tops of his bare feet were inked, too, in the same vein, though with no variance.  “I was here for his show last night.”

“I’d be very interested in knowing how you did that.  Special effects, or some sort of chemical inducement that we need to discuss?”  Arthur eyed Merlin sternly, and the sorcerer glanced back at Lance, who was busy making up a liquor order.  The barman looked away, laughing.

“I’m no illusionist, but that would ruin the magic, Detective.  It’s just for entertainment.  The competition for inner city club patrons is fierce.  We needed something to bring in the clientele.  So, practical effects displays are something different, something that hasn’t been seen before.  We don’t do it often, but randomly.  Adds to the effect of getting in.”  Morgana crossed her arms in front of her and looked at Arthur, who was staring around at the building in curiosity.    

“So it’s all just practical effects, is what you’re telling me?” Arthur asked, not looking Merlin in the eyes. 

“No, detective, it’s all really shiny magic.  Going to burn me at the stake?” Merlin answered dryly.

“I thought warlocks were hung, drawn and quartered?” countered Morgana.  Merlin gave her a soft bow. 

“Well, I’m one of three, then.”  He waited and was rewarded as she smirked at him cockily.  Arthur’s head snapped to his sister and then looked back at Merlin, his whole being irritable.

“I’d like to see the three other performers if you’ve got the time?”  His tone was brutal enough that he conveyed it wasn’t really a request.

“I don’t, actually.  They’re not an everyday occurrence.  I paper flyers at local acting troupes, and if they’re interested, they contact my people.  I rarely have much to do with them other than to speak to them about the individual acts.  I’m sorry I’m not much help.  It will prove difficult to convict me _corpus delecti_ and all that.”  Morgana grinned behind her glasses and Merlin found himself more and more convinced that he could only enjoy spending more time with her.  One small roadblock, however, specifically one with a big nose and overly large teeth.   

“Nobody said there was a crime, I’m just asking how you did it?”  Arthur pushed.

“Sleight of hand, essentially.  We keep the lights low so you don’t notice the smoke, and we have lasers about the club to aid in the show.  If you don’t understand it, please don’t ask me to explain it,” Merlin added when Arthur opened up his mouth to ask another question.  The officer’s head tilted down and he smirked as though he’d caught Merlin out.

“You tucked three amateur actors up your sleeves?  Impressive.”    He looked at Morgana who was staring at Merlin’s shoulder.  She didn’t say anything, busy searching for the tell-tale signs of bandages under the fabric. 

“What is your problem, detective?” asked Merlin, filling his tone with boredom.  He affected that he was clearly over the questioning, and wanted to get to the heart of the matter.  Not for one second did he believe that Arthur would ask him if it was magic.   

“No problem,” Arthur clarified as he looked about, seemingly pleased with himself as Merlin again took Morgana in.  “You’re just pretty free with your eyes, that’s all.”  Merlin smiled at the crack in Arthur’s armour.  He tilted his head towards Morgana even as he looked Arthur square in the face.

“I don’t think I’ll ever apologise for appreciating something of beauty.  If you don’t like the fact I’ve been looking at your sister, perhaps you shouldn’t have brought her along to throw off my concentration.  Oh, and also, if you wouldn’t mind; tell her it’s polite to let someone know when you’re standing there, even if they’re naked.”  Arthur’s eyes widened in disbelief until he saw the blush creeping up Morgana’s neck. 

“I’m sorry?”  Arthur blurted, his eyes darting between the two of them again.  Merlin turned his full attention on Morgana then, staring her up and down and settling on her eyes.  She challenged him with a smirk, and Merlin felt himself breathing deeper again, inhaling her scent.

“You’re wearing the same perfume.  As you wore when you were in my office.”  Desire flashed in her eyes and Morgana nodded slowly, undressing him in her mind. 

“If you were worried about privacy, maybe you should have left the door closed and locked and I wouldn’t have mistakenly gotten to see the real you.  All of the real you.  Every last morsel,” she flirted.  Arthur cleared his throat, obviously thrown by her boldness, which Merlin couldn’t stop appreciating.  Namely because Arthur wouldn’t shut up.  

“How long have you been in business, Mr Lenmeris?” came his next question.  Merlin and Morgana didn’t break eye contact as they both started to smile. Slightly.

“Long enough to know you’re fishing.  What do you want?”  Arthur touched Morgana on the shoulder and she shrugged and stepped back, unconcerned.  He caught Merlin’s gaze and pulled a file out from the pocket of his jacket, folded hard.  He tapped the edge into the palm of his hand, looking at Merlin, considering. 

“I’m told that you’re a man who knows things,” Arthur began vaguely.

“I know the difference between a cake and a biscuit,” said Merlin, when the conversation didn’t move forward.  “Saw it on a show once.”

“You know what I mean,” came the irritable reply as Arthur waved a hand in front of him.    

“You’re official police, and you’re standing here with a legal magician, so I’m not ever going to assume that.”  Arthur handed him the file and Merlin opened it slowly.  Inside were several photos, of Merlin wielding magic and Nimue doing the same.  And one of the two of them together.  It had been in a much happier place and time.  He remembered the dinner barely.  Afterwards was branded in his mind.  She’d given him her panties at the table and they had not even made it back to the car before tearing at one another’s clothes.  But it always ended the same way.  No matter the power of that chemistry and sexual need evoked in one another, they always ended in pain.  Merlin tucked the photos back and handed them back to Arthur, who put them in his jacket. 

“I know things too, Mr Lenmeris.  I know that your ex-girlfriend and you are getting into a great deal of mischief.  I’m not sure what’s going on between the two of you, but a nightclub is a way to mask a great deal of money,” he began.  Merlin scowled.  They’d taken the complete wrong route with this.  And he was done with the detective at the very least.  And if she’d had anything to do with it, then he was done with Morgana, too. 

“So is a lemonade stand,” he quipped with finality.  Arthur crossed his arms.

“I don’t think I like you,” the detective responded warningly.  Merlin shrugged his shoulders, and this time, the pain flared with heat.  Fluffed up popinjay, thought Merlin.  What a dollop head.

“Luckily I couldn’t care less.  Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”  His gaze shifted to Morgana, and he wondered again if she had anything to do with the photos.  He tried to keep his voice casual and uninterested, while still flirting.  It was a knack.  “Staying for lunch?” 

“Maybe next time,” she grinned.  He didn’t know what to make of it, but he was enjoying her wit and boldness, so answered it with some of his own. 

“Make it any time.  I’ll cook dinner, if you stay for breakfast.”  He turned and left them to leave on their own, making his way back upstairs and not bothering to look at them, not even at Morgana.  Arthur shook his head.

“What an asshole,” he griped. 

“You just don’t like that he’s prepared to dismiss you for knowing nothing about him or his life,” answered Morgana as she pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose casually. 

“Abso-fucken-lutely right.   He’s rude and supercilious,” he said, his tone lofty and dismissive. 

“I’m glad you use that word a day calendar I got you,” she noted.  “You didn’t REALLY expect him to admit to being the head of a criminal empire in a turf war with his ex, did you?”  Arthur offered her his arm as they walked out back towards the entrance.    

“I just wanted to get a feel for the guy.  I’m not sure what’s going on, but I know he’s integral to it.  He’s got a thing for you, though,” her brother noted in the exact same tone, not acknowledging the second part of her statement.  Morgana took in the décor of the club with a grin as they left. 

“Look around.  He’s got good taste.”

TBC


End file.
